


Happy Hour

by HenryMercury



Series: Hours [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Multi, Polyamory, Rarepair Bingo, Wealth, cocktails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 20:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14600646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: "Can I just say," Pansy drawls, lazy from all the sun and alcohol she's absorbed lately, "that this relationship has probably caused the most mummy issues of any since Oedipus himself?"





	Happy Hour

**Author's Note:**

> For rarepair bingo:  
> -sitting at the bar, seaside, a drink with a mini brolly in it  
> -clothes shopping/sharing  
> -Who Let The Dogs Out (2000)
> 
> Let's not even pretend this is really anonymous

"Can I just say," Pansy drawls, lazy from all the sun and alcohol she's absorbed lately, "that this relationship has probably caused the most mummy issues of any since Oedipus himself?"

"I'm aware," Narcissa answers. Her tone is drier than her martini, but Pansy doesn't miss the way she smirks against the rim of her glass, eyes flickering between her two...

Damn it, Pansy really needs to stop pondering the question of what they are to one another. _Girlfriends_ seems like a bizarre choice of word for the situation, _partners_ sounds too long-term and too dull, and Pansy kind of hates the word _lovers_. They've not discussed anything like that. All they know is that they're fucking each other and nobody else.

Not that any of them would _need_ to fuck anyone else. Pansy doesn't even know where she'd find the time, let alone the energy.

"My last conversation with Blaise was especially interesting," Pansy turns to Capricia, who is toying with the yellow cocktail umbrella in her sangría with long, dark fingers. She punctures the paper with a long red-painted nail (Ms Zabini prefers to receive than to give).

"Oh?" Capricia prompts.

"He couldn't seem to decide whether he was worried about your happiness or my... future wellbeing. Also, I'd been called a motherfucker before, but it's a different experience when it's meant literally."

Capricia laughs; a husky, unrestrained sound of amusement. It sounds impossibly classy against the background of chatter and dance music. "Blaise will get over it," she says. "He always does."

"Draco has recovered from much worse," Narcissa adds with a nod of agreement. "You have always been important to him, Pansy. He will realise soon what is in his own best interests."

Pansy orders another two wet pussy shots, watching the cute bartender as he pours in the vodka, the peach schnapps, the juices. She knows the others have been watching him too, so there's no room for judgement. The young man is shirtless and tanned with mussed hair like he's just emerged from the ocean. It's possible; this bar starts right where the beach ends.

"Gracias," Pansy tells him as she tips back the first of the shots, and then tips him another four hundred pesetas.

"Still not had enough to drink?" Narcissa observes with a raised brow. And sure, Pansy's lost count of how many she's had, but she feels fine— _better_ than fine—and besides, they're on holiday.

"I'm thirsty, what can I say?" she winks and holds Narcissa's gaze as she downs the second shot and licks its sweetness from her lips.

"I need new clothes," Capricia says, picking at the thin straps of the tiny bikini which she wears underneath a leather jacket borrowed from Pansy. It's snug across Capricia's wider shoulders, but it's flat enough across her chest that she can still do it up. Not that she chooses to do it up very far. "Let's go shopping! This trip has been all sex and drinking, and the only thing better is spending money; don't you think we should do a bit of that?"

Pansy frowns in disagreement. "What's better than sex depends on the sex," she argues.

But Narcissa lays a hand on her shoulder, light fingers making their way up to the halter neckline of her dress. "Darling," she says. "Just wait until you've bought your first villa."

Pansy thinks that if she has a few more drinks that villa might happen sooner rather than later.

As the salsa beat of one song subsides, a more aggressive rhythm takes its place. Pansy recognises the song—the one where the singer wants to know who let the dogs out.

"I don't like this music," Narcissa scrunches her nose. It's an adorable expression, and Pansy's reminded that while she sometimes feels out of her depth with the two older women, they're all looking for and feeling very similar things at the end of the day. All trying to find themselves outside the cages of past lives and expectations.

"Alright," Pansy says, tipping herself off her bar stool. "Let's shop. Where to first?"


End file.
